


Bind

by Yavieriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ainur - Freeform, Gen, Maiar, War of Wrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavieriel/pseuds/Yavieriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU:  Eonwe fell to Morgoth's grasp, but there are always second chances</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bind

**Author's Note:**

> Based (loosely) on artwork by the incredibly talented Ems-uitwaainen [Ok everyone but what if Eonwe was corrupted too](http://ems-uitwaaien.tumblr.com/post/127132448296/ok-everyone-but-what-if-eonwe-was-corrupted-too) although it went off in its own direction a bit.
> 
> I commented with a very flaily "nooooooooo why would you [horrified tears over Eonwe] [lays on the floor and writes fix-it fic for AU that doesn’t even have fic]" and Ems asked for that fic! So here it is. Also   
> [on tumblr, along with Ems' original ask](http://yavieriel.tumblr.com/post/130299792857/eonwe-fix-it-fic-pls-pls-pls-ems-uitwaaien-here) .

The wind that pushed Melkor’s poisonous fumes back from the battlefield carried an achingly familiar scent of power, shimmering blue at the edges of his vision. He stalked it hungrily, using the chaos of battle to disguise his intent as he drew ever closer to its source. The sweetness of it beckoned to him, memories promising comfort and rest in the heart of that power. Against it was set the memories of his former lord’s betrayal, of the torturous, maddening years he had waited for rescue, pain and fury armoring him as heavily as steel, driving him onward. 

Intent as he was on his prey, he nearly faltered when the figure he was hunting turned towards him to fend off a blow from an orc. The face was one he’d never seen. Drawing back, he found a lull in the fighting and studied the stranger more carefully. It wasn’t one of the Maiar, or he would have recognized them from Before, even if the form was strange. The armor and devices marked him as one of the leaders of the elves that were fighting alongside those he once called kin. Even so, the alluring scent of Manwe’s power rolled off of the warrior.

Diving back into the thick of battle, he circled closer, always conscious of the source of the cool breeze that tempered the heat of the day even when the fighting closed around him. In the midst of the heaviest combat he finally matched swords with the one he had been hunting, and the blows rang through him like the bells of Valmar. As they fought he found himself slowing, grief he’d thought long ago discarded once more weighing him down. The rage that drove him weakened, his blows neither as quick nor falling as heavily as they might have. He tested the strange swordsman, giving himself time to study this elf who bore a gift of power from the ruler of the Valar, and though he would not admit it even to himself, savoring the echo of his once-beloved lord’s power. Lost in his thoughts as he fought, he did not realize he had been surrounded and lured away from the main conflict until his feet were swept out from under him by a blow from behind, his hands swiftly pinned behind him. 

One of the Maiar approached swiftly, adding their strength to his bonds, though he found he hadn’t much will to fight his captors. It would be of a piece with his torment that he should be cast out of Arda not even by his own lord but by some strange echo of Manwe in elven form, too alike for him to find the heart to resist. Laughing bitterly, he bowed his head in surrender. The warm leather of gauntleted fingers lifted his chin, and he looked up past gold-chased armor into intent eyes of deep violet-blue. 

“Eönwë?” the stranger asked, and the sound of his name for the first time in long ages shattered any last desire he might have had to resist. “Is it truly?” He had no answer, uncertain if he had any right to claim that name any longer. 

The Maia who now stood behind the stranger - one of Nessa’s people, he thought - confirmed it for him. “For all he has changed, this is indeed Eönwë, your highness. There is something, though…” With that, her hands were on his helm, and she swore in pain as though it burned her. Panic struck him as she tried to remove it despite the pain it cost her, and he twisted frantically, yanking his head from his captors’ hands. “We need someone more skilled in curse-breaking than I, I’m afraid,” he heard, to his puzzlement. “One of Aulë’s people, I think - they know the most of how spells may be wrought into steel.”

The elven leader nodded decisively even as he began to unbuckle his gauntlets. “Inform Lord Orome that we have a Maiarin captive with cursed armor at the very minimum, and I would appreciate his assistance with the situation as soon as possible. If he is not immediately available, request a Maiarin curse-breaker to deal with the armor in the meantime.” 

She bowed in response and strode off to carry out her orders. To his shock the golden-haired elf then went to one knee, still facing him, and reached for him slowly and carefully, allowing him plenty of time to pull away. This time it was a bare palm that gently cupped his cheek, fingers spread and thumb resting just below the edge of the steel mesh that covered his eyes. He froze, heart pounding and breath coming quick and shallow, caught between the stinging fury that drove him to pull away and the yearning need to lean into this gentle touch. “Eönwë,” the elf said, his voice as gentle as a breeze, “Will you remove your helm for me?”

The panic that struck him again seemed suddenly a thing apart from himself, a stranger beating furiously upon his thoughts. Defiance rose up in him and with it the desire for the sunlight-warm touch upon his face to not be taken from him. “Yes,” he answered, slowly finding the words. “Yes, I will. Please-”

His wrists were released then, knotted cords still upon them but no longer binding his hands together behind his back, and he reached up and took off the helm. It was as though he had suddenly been brought out into the sunlight after long years in a dim, reeking hall, and he felt the fury fall away from him like a stranger left behind as he soared into the arch of the sky. He looked with new wonder at the elf who had captured and freed him all at once. Bowing his head again to offer his neck, he leaned into the hand that still cupped his cheek. Mercy still seemed an unwarranted hope, but at least now he might die free.

That seemed to confirm some decision, and to his bewilderment it was not a sword that struck him but words. “Will you surrender, and swear to do no harm to any among the Quendi or Edain, nor contest with those Maiar who remain faithful to the One and to the Powers of the West?”

He found his voice at that. “If I do, what will be my fate?” he asked, probing at this unexpected mercy as if it was a wound that had proven less fatal than anticipated. 

“You will be bound, and returned to the West for judgement by the Valar. None lesser may claim the authority to declare your fate. Beyond that, I cannot say.” 

He trembled at the hope that rose in him, that at least he might see his lord again before being cast out into the Void. “Gladly,” he answered, “Gladly do I swear that I will do no harm to any among the Quendi or the Edain, nor contest with those Maiar who remain faithful to the One and to the Powers of the West. Whatever you order, I shall obey, and by your will I shall be bound until you release me to another’s service.” Anything, if only he could kneel once again at Manwë’s feet, however briefly, whatever end it might bring him to. This strange, kind elf could not be a crueler jailer than Melkor.

**Author's Note:**

> For further reference - Ingwion's abilities here are based on [my headcanon regarding Ingwe's children and the abandoned concept of the children of the Valar ](http://yavieriel.tumblr.com/post/101708131902/ingwes-children)  
> I may or may not write further chapters of this - if I do, the rating and warnings will change appropriately, mostly for more detailed discussion of what happened to Eonwe under Morgoth's power.


End file.
